Less Than Welcoming
by Segmented Aura
Summary: - ”Then why,” Jesse wanted to know, “Are you holding a pair of my undergarments behind your back?” His grin had grown. ”Boxers,” I corrected automatically, my face turning redder even as I said it. Damn! - Jesse x Suze of course , R&R ! :D


Hello, all!! Welcome, and thank you for coming!! I'm Amy, and what you see here is my first Mediator story!! YAY!! :D This will be multi-chaptered, so I hope you all enjoy and come back for more!!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Mediator or any of its characters, including, sadly, Jesse. :sigh: It all belongs to Meg Cabot, that lucky, lucky girl.

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"_Querida_." Jesse's voice, deep and amused, sounded from the doorway of the kitchen – simultaneously drawing me away from the task at hand and causing my heart to leap dizzily into my throat (was leaping dizzily possible?), something that always happened to me when Jesse spoke – which I immediately whipped around towards, shoving my hands behind my back in the process. I was certain I must look guilty. "What are you doing?"

Upon seeing him, my heart dropped back down into my chest with stunning force and began thumping at an alarming speed, another common occurrence whenever I see the man of my dreams.

Jesse was looking particularly delectable today – not that he didn't always – dressed in a few of the many articles of clothing I had carefully selected for him on the relatively limited funds for clothing – compared to other expenses – Father Dominic had provided.

I guess he didn't realize the importance of having a stylish ensemble in this day and age – or any, for that matter. Then again, I supposed, he was a priest, so this was not all that surprising. I suspected the only variety he had was changing into his nightclothes - I imagined him having a closet full of the exact same outfit – but had never bothered to ask.

In any case, I, of course, had been forced – okay, so I was quite willing. After all, even though Jesse would look hot in anything, even a paper bag, I knew his inherent hotness would only carry him so far in the real world. Plus, I kind of liked getting him into clothes that showed off his killer abs – to use my own money towards his wardrobe.

While this solution was not an issue for me, it seemed to pose quite a problem for Jesse – which was why I had wisely kept this bit of information to myself. He would not, in fact, have ever been aware of this point had CeeCee and her big mouth not accidentally let it slip in his presence. He seemed to feel I should not be wasting money better saved for college or a car on him.

While this was unbelievably sweet, I'd been quick to assure him that I didn't mind at all, that my cash was a small price to pay to provide proper attire for my one true love – but of course, he hadn't fallen for it.

After a stern lecture about how I needed to start setting aside my money instead of throwing it away on such frivolities – appalled at the suggestion that getting Jesse outfits that accentuated his hotness was a 'frivolity,' I had immediately said as much (and was, of course, ignored) – Jesse, too much of a gentleman to not do so, had thanked me warmly for the thought.

And then immediately informed me he would be paying me back, slowly but steadily, with the money from his job at the Museum.

What else could I do? I'd agreed to this; not that I hadn't put up a fight, insisting that he really didn't need to, that I was more than happy to buy him whatever he needed – but once Jesse's mind was made up, it was made up. Period.

This had unfortunately been even more of a hindrance to me in other areas. Jesse's stubbornness, I mean. And by 'other areas,' I am of course referring to those in the clothing-removal department.

Oh yeah, his clothes. Jesse's outfit was fairly simple, just boot-cut jeans and a button-up black shirt (which, I don't think I need to mention, was half-way unbuttoned down. Way sexy. So what if I like to showcase his amazing chest?), but it was enough to make me weak in the knees.

Of course, I get weak-kneed every time I look at him anyways – not just because it still stuns me to see him in modern-day clothes (although that is a part of it), but because he's _there_. He's actually _here with me_, where I can feel his warmth…_alive_.

Even now, halfway through Winter Break, this fact still overwhelms me. Happy…I don't remember ever feeling so deliriously happy, not even that one time back in New York when Gina and I had hidden in some bushes in the park around midnight and witnessed a real live gang fight, complete with pistols and stabbing and eventual NYPD intervention, during the last of which we had fled into the cover of night.

Okay, so really there were all kinds of streetlights and it wasn't the least bit dark, and we'd just headed off to Gina's apartment, which was the closest. And it wasn't really a gang fight, but a couple of drug dealers and their suppliers who, I guess, had held out on them. Still. None of that compared to the joy I was experiencing now.

My gaze, which had been making its way up my _boyfriend's_ body, finally reached said boyfriend's dark eyes – which I was startled to find were staring right back at me, expectantly.

Then I remembered my current situation. Also, the question he'd asked me.

Oh. Right.

"Um," I said, clutching the item I was holding behind me – which just so happened to be a pair of Jesse's boxers, something I'd insisted fiercely was better than briefs (if the fact that my stepfather and all three of my stepbrothers wore them counted. Not that Dopey's preferences really mattered) and had accordingly convinced him were _the_ choice in underwear – more tightly, blushing. "Nothing."

Except of course I wasn't doing _nothing_. Jesse seemed to realize this, if the equally amused and knowing grin on his lips was any indication – although that may have been due to my red cheeks. Who really knew with guys?

Even guys who had been around for more than a century. Now that I thought about it, this was probably what made half the stuff he did even _more_ confusing. Different customs back then, and all.

But I digress. What I was actually doing was cleaning up his place (did I mention we were at his apartment?), because while he _was_ significantly tidier than any other guy I knew (with the possible exception of Andy, said stepfather), being from the nineteenth century and all, he was still a guy – and so, without question, there had to be _some_ sort of mess in his residence.

Not that I am in any way sexist. Far from it, actually; I am fully appreciative of males and their contributions to society, even beyond being eye candy - though it really doesn't even matter anymore, seeing as how I now have eyes for only one guy. In any case, it is merely a simple truth that guys tend to be on the messier end of the spectrum – even back in NY, where people, male and female alike, rarely had any real dishes in favor of paper plates and the like, so they wouldn't have to wash anything, but could instead simply throw all of their dirtied 'dishware' out the window to let public services take care of.

I know this for a fact because, while I have never participated in this practice myself, I have many a time been the recipient of an ill-aimed toss, and so ended up with ranch dressing being absorbed into my hair, or Hawaiian Punch all down the front of my shirt or whatever.

Anyways, Jesse's was in his living room. His mess, I mean. While the rest of the apartment was spotless – including the bedroom, which, I regret to say, I have yet to visit for anything less than innocent…though this is not unexpected, considering the time period my boyfriend came from. But a girl can dream, yeah? – I was still trying to figure out what went wrong here.

Clothes (thankfully clean) were everywhere, ranging from partway under a couch cushion to draped over a lamp shade to hanging from the ceiling fan (I could not for the life of me – master sleuth that I am - puzzle this one out, and wasn't sure I wanted to) to anywhere else you could imagine. Did he, I wonder, just hurl everything around the minute he stepped in the door with his laundry basket and hope for the best?

I suppose a guy like Jesse – you know, so busy with his girlfriend and his job and working on getting into medical school and being alive and all – doesn't have time to concern himself with trivial things like folding his clothes. Or, it appeared, even stuffing them into drawers, like I tend to do after a long day.

He's so lucky to have me around.

"Then why," Jesse wanted to know, "Are you holding a pair of my undergarments behind your back?" His grin had grown.

"Boxers," I corrected automatically, my face turning redder even as I said it. _Damn!_ Had he seen them when I'd turned to face him? That had to be it. It just _had_ to.

So much for my quick reflexes.

A bit belatedly due to the shock of being caught, I dropped the offending 'undergarments,' kicking them not-so-subtly backwards and under the coffee table. My cheeks were burning by now.

"Well," I squeaked – Squeaked! _Me!_ And over what? Being discovered with my mitts on what really, if you think about it, was _my_ property?! But I found I couldn't stop – "You see, I was just -"

Now he was chuckling. How dare he chuckle at me! I was frowning now – though to my dismay, I was also discovering that I couldn't make my blush go away. Really. What was I so flustered about?! Regardless of my stupid blood's determination to stay flooded in my face, I opened my mouth to sharply inform him that this was _not_ appropriate behaviour, but he was too quick for me; in three long strides, he had made his way over to me and taken my shoulders, gently but firmly, into his large, tanned hands.

Those large, tanned hands I had a tendency to picture on other parts of my body, but at the moment, this was certainly more than enough. I couldn't help noticing his ever-so-manly chest, with that ever-so-manly chest hair, partly because it was right in front of my face, and partly because…well, come on. How could I not? It became even better when, as I looked up, he gazed down at me with those warm, liquid eyes of his, then spoke in his equally liquid, sexy voice. "Susannah…"

That did it. Any threat I'd been about to make died on my lips; it was pathetic, really, how easily he could melt me with a mere touch, glance, word. But I couldn't bring myself to mind.

At all.

Let's get real: could _you?_

"Y-yes?" Was my witty rejoinder; I was finding it impossible to tear my gaze away from his. Already, I knew what was coming next.

Strong, tendony hands drifted from my shoulders to cup my face tenderly, slowly pulling it up towards the owner of the hands; my eyes fluttered closed in anticipation. I could feel Jesse's warm breath on my lips. Then --

CeeCee burst through the front door. "Suze!" she exclaimed; she appeared out of breath. But I couldn't have cared less at the moment. In fact, I was sort of mad at her for interrupting. Really mad, actually. I mean, you don't see _me_ crashing in on her and _her_ man.

She seemed, at least, to notice that she may not have come barreling in at the most opportune time, if the way I saw her eyes dart to Jesse's and my closeness and the way Jesse's hands had dropped from my face immediately at CeeCee's entrance was any indication. "Oh. Sorry. But, listen –"

"Don't you," I said, annoyed, "Ever knock?" To Jesse, I said, "And I thought I told you to lock your door. Unlike in the jolly old 1800's, we do not trust others to not break in and invade our privacy."

The old 1800's were anything _but_ jolly – at least for my boyfriend – and we both knew it; Jesse, now appearing mildly irritated himself, looked as if he were about to say something along those lines, but CeeCee, unsurprisingly, beat him to the punch. The girl never had a shortage of words, nor speed at which to speak them.

"Oh, chill, you two can always make out later," CeeCee said impatiently, waving off my complaints with a pale hand, "But I've gotta tell you -"

Despite my less-than-welcoming feelings towards my best friend at that moment, I felt that this was probably best; I didn't want Jesse and me to get into some stupid argument.

Arguing with CeeCee, however, was an entirely different matter.

"Actually, Cee," I interrupted, deliberately casual, "Jesse and I were not planning on _making out_. As a matter of fact, we were just preparing to grab a late breakfast" – a total lie, but a romantic morning meal seemed to be the easiest way to get rid of her, since physical intimacy was clearly not enough. CeeCee is a sucker for romance, at least ever since she started going out with Adam – "So maybe we could talk some other ti – hey. _Ow_."

I glared up at my romantic meal partner, who had just elbowed me. Can you believe it? He _elbowed_ me! Granted, not hard at all – just enough to get me to shut up, it seemed – but _still_. When all I had been trying to do was get us alone. Something a _normal_ guy would _want_ to be with his girlfriend. Alone, I mean. But _no_ – not _my_ guy. _My_ guy would rather chat it up with my best friend. And he wasn't even _looking_ at me, but towards her, despite all my efforts to get rid of her. You know, for us.

"But of course, we wouldn't mind waiting if you have something important to discuss with Susannah, CeeCee."

That was what too-courteous Jesse – knowing very well there _were_ no such plans - had said as he'd elbowed me, before inviting her to come in and sit. And thereby, despite all my efforts, completely foiling any possibility of make-out time.

God. Sometimes I am _so_ unappreciated.

Of course, at this – both the elbowing _and_ the invite - CeeCee was beaming back at him and going and making herself right at home on his couch. The couch with the pajama shirt sticking out from between two of the seat cushions. I knew CeeCee was either not bothered by the mess or was simply being polite, because there was no way she could have _not_ noticed it.

After glaring at my so-called boyfriend, I went and sat next to her, quite grumpy now. "Alright. What is it, CeeCee?"

She, of course, needed no more prompting than that to dive headfirst into her 'big news.' "I just found out, Suze, that Kelly Prescott has gone missing."

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I know, I know, not REALLY a cliff-hanger since it's just Kelly Prescott, but I had to cut it off there because of future cliff-hangers and chapter lengths and all of that. Just continue reading. ;)

Anyways, how do y'all think I'm doing with Suze's voice? I'm kind of afraid I'm rambling too much…I mean, I know Suze goes off tangents and gets off-track, but am I over-doing it…? Any constructive crit would be much appreciated!! And of course, praise!! :)

Hope you liked it!! Till next time!! :D

Lovelove,

Amy


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